Affection's Victim
by Ready Or Notxx
Summary: They were always supposed to be co-workers. Nothing more. But what can you do when a strange desire chains you together? A/L. M for sexual themes and strong language.
1. Prologue: Monster

Hello, everyone! -waves- This is the prologue of Affection's Victim. I had some spare time, so I figured I should go ahead and write it. So here I am, providing you with yet another new story. :) So like the summary says, Lawrence is a (psychotic) serial killer, and Adam is his little boytoy. XD (Hmm, wonder why this fic's rated M?)

So, without further adieu (I seriously hope that's how you spell that or I'm going to have coniption...), I present teh ya Affection's Victim.

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**Affection's Victim****  
****Prologue: Monster******

The lights.

There's four of them.

No, two of them.

He can't tell anymore.

The lights.

That's all he has to look forward to now.

Light.

Because someone told him once that light was good, pure, happy, and that as long as he had light with him, everything would turn out okay. He would wake from a horrible dream.

The pain in his arms and the gash on his side wouldn't hurt so much if he had light to save him.

And now, as he rests his head between his knees, he knows everything was a lie.

These greenish glowing lights can't even save one soul, one soul just bound to a chair by belts.

The belts probably still hurt.

He doesn't know if they still do. Not anymore, at least.

Earlier, they felt like thousands of needles poking his skin. Every time he fought, struggled, the belts only fought back against his wrists, and his legs, too. Even though his wet jeans take some of the pain away.

_Pain._

Burning, searing, agonizing pain.

Pain is the only thing left that's real down here. Down in a smallish version of hell. Everything else has just been painted onto the walls in watercolors, so whenever someone turns on a hose, all of the colors will run and nothing will be left. Nothing left except for that one, single red word that floats into his mind, then into his arms and legs.

Something else is real sometimes, too.

_Monster._

That's only at certain times, though.

When _He _comes into the room.

Raises his knife.

Makes that same warm wetness between his legs.

Makes the fragile bones in his arms sparkle with some sort of gleaming.

_Monster._

The red word that fills his mind when _He _takes the belt out of the denim loops of his jeans.

The red word that fills his mind when _He _rolls _his _tongue around and around in his mouth until he's crying and gagging all over again.

What he doesn't get is why _He _doesn't just kill him right now.

He would kill himself if his hands were free. He would choke himself if he could, puncture his own throat, do _anything. _

Because none of this is worth living.

None of this is worth it.

He'd rather die. Any way. Because, if there really is a hell, this is it. This is the place you go when you've been a bad boy like him. _He _is the devil. Somehow, this probably isn't as bad as it could get.

He's sure _He _will burn him alive at some point.

But now, as the four lights become two again, he looks up, staring at the door.

The doorknob rattles.

It rattles because _someone is behind it._

Holding jingling keys.

Turning the knob with one hand. Holding a knife with the other hand.

He screams.

And he doesn't know why he screams.

Because screaming has done _absolutely nothing._

He screamed until he tasted blood in the back of his throat. Until his voice fell so hoarse that he could barely speak.

Who's he going to talk to, anyways? _Him?_

He keeps screaming, but it comes out as more of a squeal that a singer gets whenever they've blown their voice out or they haven't taken in a deep enough breath.

It's pathetic. He's _pathetic._

The worst part is, when he screams, he knows he's giving _him _satisfaction. Excitement. Til both of their hearts pound against the walls of their chests, both for different reasons or purposes.

The door opens.

The keys still jingle.

Fucking jingling, he _hates _that jingling.

Not as much as he hates that gleam that goes through _his _blue eyes whenever _He _sets his eyes upon him. Speaks those words.

"Hello, Adam."

He doesn't respond. He never responds unless he knows he _has _to.

No matter how much he wants to die right now, he just wants the pain to stop. Go away. End.

"How are your wounds treating you?"

Well, they hurt, obviously.

He doesn't answer straight, just shrugs and puts his head between his knees again.

Dumbfuck.

He doesn't answer straight, just because he knows that, no matter how he answers the question, either his pants are going to come off or his blood's going to drip onto the floor, adding more to the dark, thick puddle beneath the chair.

"That's not the answer I'm looking for. Remember what I told you. If you don't answer me the way I want you to, you and I will have more problems, Adam."

How can there possibly be more fucking _problems?_

If _He's _going to fuck him, he wishes _He _would just do it already.

Because, at least, he doesn't have to do anything but just sit there since he has no use of his hands or feet.

That's the one time where being restricted is a good thing.

More or less.

Because, even though he hates _him, _he still wants it.

Or some part of him still wants it, at least.

His erection wants it. All of it. And he can't control it.

As _He _looks at him with a lustful mist clouding _his _vision, his erection wants it again.

"Adam, are you going to answer me or not?" _He _takes his chin in _his _palm, and looks straight into his eyes.

He holds his breath as _he _unbuckles his pants again.

_He'll _unbuckle the belts. Throw him onto the floor, handcuff his hands behind his back. Make sure he can never, ever get away, because now _He _owns him.

_Monster._

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GRAAAAAAAAWWWR, you BASTARD-FUCK! XD

So, anyone figure out why this is rated M yet? X3

Well, I know it's not much, but you can at least provide me with a review, right? XD 


	2. Insomnia, Pulse, Bones

Yay, I'm back with another chapter for Affection's Victim! X3 But the sad thing is, I'm not connected to the internet right now (problems, you see), so there is no possible way for me to make review responses. SO! This goes out to all you darlings out there! -waves- I'm so glad you're already excited by this! I'll do my best, I promise!

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**1: Insomnia, Pulse, Bones**

She lay beside him.

All night, she lay beside Adam. Breathing softly, obviously and obliviously asleep right next to him, right next to his face. She lay there, sleeping, even when Adam can't sleep. He can shut his eyes all night, but he'll never succumb to the sleep he so desperately needs.

Well. He eventually _does _get to sleep. And he usually drifts off an hour before he's supposed to go into work. Which means he only gets to sleep for about twenty minutes. Then he has to shower, which takes about ten minutes, and then he has to leave his girlfriend at home.

Sleep. He needs it. But it doesn't come to Adam as easily anymore.

Why won't his body let him sleep? He's _tired, _so fucking _tired _of everything, tired of his life, tired of his girlfriend, tired of his parents and everything else, so why can't he just _sleep _for a change? The stupid thing is, whenever Adam was a kid, he'd wished he would never have to go to bed, never have to sleep so he'd be able to keep doing what he wanted all day long.

Funny thing is, that corrupted wish came true.

Adam continues staring blankly at the dark ceiling overhead, feeling the hairs on his thin, bony arms stand up and prickle despite the blanket over him and Demi. Every time he breathes, he watches as a cloud of his own breath floats up above him and quickly disperses within the blink of an eye.

For a second, he wonders why. Then he remembers the heater broke a few days ago.

Great.

Adam sighs mentally.

Of _course _the heater would break. Of _course _the broken heater and lazy maintenence would leave Adam and Demi in Adam's apartment cold and shivering. Of _course _that would happen to _Adam._

Adam looks at the red-numbered digital clock resting on the end table next to his bed. Six twenty-one. Nine minutes until he has to get up, take a shower, and push around a cleaning cart all day. Mop and sweep bathrooms, clean up after sick people. And it's not that he minds his job. He _doesn't. _He would rather just stay home.

Which is ironic, since the only home he's got is frigid-ass cold.

Adam knows he has nine minutes, but he pushes the covers off of himself and slides out of bed, the iciness of the apartment slapping the skin on his legs. He tries to ignore it, but ends up biting his lip to keep his teeth from chattering and to keep himself from shivering.

Ah, well. At least there's hot water in the shower.

"Adam..."

Adam flinches before turning back towards the bed and looking at Demi, whose dark brown eyes are open halfway. She stares at him through the blue-tinted dark. "Adam, is it time _already?"_ she practically sighs, still half-asleep. "Jeez, I thought you were going to try to take off this week."

Adam almost rolls his eyes. But he figures it really wouldn't matter if he did, because in the dark, no one would see him do it. "Nah, I gotta pay rent sometime this week," he mutters instead, searching the carpet for his black jeans. He grips them, finding them halfway underneath the bed. He glances at Demi.

Adam doesn't like her. He never has. But she likes him. And he figures... It's better to be with Demi than to be alone, right? Adam pulls his pants on over his underwear and sighs loudly, looking towards the window. "Hey, text me at work if maintenence comes by and finally fixes the heater," he says quietly.

"All right, I can do that," Demi sighs, sitting up. She reaches for Adam, grabbing his arm, and pulls his face close to hers so she can plant an open-lipped kiss on his mouth. Adam doesn't kiss her back, he just kinda stands there, but Demi doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn't care.

Adam purses his lips and pulls away from her. "Later." He showered the night before, so, thankfully, he doesn't have to take the time to do that this morning. He doesn't have to spend one more moment in that frigid, icy apartment anymore. He can just simply walk out and come home eight hours later.

He doesn't have a car. Adam's never had enough money to afford his own car. Or, he has, but he'd rather walk. At least he can take in some of the morning air whenever he's walking. Smoke a little, so Demi doesn't have to bitch at him about quitting.

He'll quit. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not next month. Not next year. But he'll quit. Eventually. Right now, it's not really a big deal to him. He's twenty-six now. He should be able to smoke as he pleases.

Adam walks on the sidewalk, yawning and rubbing one greenish gray eye with the back of his hand. He'll get to work in a few minutes, not even bothering to put in the janitor uniform, push around a cleaning cart like the orderly he is, and it'll be the same as it always is.

And as he walks into the entrance of the hospital, seeing rows of waiting room chairs, seeing that he's right. Nothing's changed. It's still the same old boring hospital, not full of excitement like so many soap operas suggest. Adam scratches the back of his head, walking past two conversing doctors.

He cuts his eyes at Adam.

The blonde doctor. Adam's seen him here before. Dr. Gordon. Seen him with his hand on the doorknob all the time, seen him with his medical chart clenched tightly in his fists. But he's never actually talked to him. Never actually looked him straight in the eyes.

Now he does.

As he passes him, he does.

Blue. Dr. Gordon's eyes are blue. As Dr. Gordon says "Hello" Adam realizes they're blue.

"Hello, Dr. Gordon," Adam mutters back, almost passing him, trying to ignore him now.

Lawrence Gordon. One of the most successful neurosurgeons here.

Lawrence smiles that awkward doctor smile that Adam's seen on all the other surgeons and nurses here, the smile that you obtain after you've had somebody else's blood on your sterilized white gloves, seen a heart actually beating with a warm pulse in someone's body, seen a heart monitor flatline.

For some reason, at that smile, Adam feels trapped. Compelled to respond to Lawrence. "How are you today?" he asks.

And for some reason, Lawrence can feel his own pulse beat in his ears as he watches that little guy. The scrawny little orderly that he's been seeing coming here. He's never known the little guy's name, but he's definitely seen him. Lawrence chuckles and asks quietly, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound a little rude, but I've never gotten your name."

"Adam," the little orderly says, no, squeaks, squeaks in a feminine voice. "I've got to get to work." Awkwardly. Almost too awkwardly. Too awkward for Lawrence as the little guy walks away.

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Lawrence sighs.

Just a few patients today. Just a few. That's regularly how Lawrence's days are. Treat a few patients. Go home and be alone for the rest of the day.

Lawrence's day is regular.

So why...

What was his name again? _Adam?_

Today, after Adam told Lawrence his name, like fate wanted to prove something, Lawrence has seen Adam sweeping in the hallway several times, or cleaning up in patients' rooms, and he's never seen him this much before. Or, maybe he's seen him a lot, just never actually picked him out as an individual puzzle piece from the rest of the crowd of orderlies at this hospital.

Adam had said hi every time they'd made eye contact, every time Lawrence had seen those eyes, those fucking _greenish gray eyes, _those eyes that made Adam look...

Cute or something.

Made him look cute whenever he was pushing around that cleaning cart or sweeping or whatever it is that orderlies do. Adam is cute.

Why?

It's not right. The feeling Lawrence gets, the way his stomach flips every time he sees that little guy trekking around in the hallway. The way Lawrence can feel his skin burning, not out of embarrassment, but out of... Something. _Something._

His skin burns for reasons he, Lawrence Gordon, one of the best neurosurgeons at this hospital, with his doctors' degree and so many other awards, can't even understand.

Sensation. That's the word, he thinks. It's a sensation. And it starts from where he can feel the blood in his cheeks to down lower, lower, and he doesn't understand. It's like a complicated two-step equation in algebra that a seventh grader can't even fathom, so they have to scratch the side of their head with their pencil. They don't understand. Their mind is trapped inside a narrow, cramped little box.

And they _have _to understand. Lawrence _has _to understand why. Understand why every time he even thinks of Adam or gets near that dark-haired little runt he hears his pulse beat so fast and heavy in his ears. His heart races. And he doesn't know why.

Lawrence walks down the hall, and he goes to the employee bathroom. He pushes the door open, and instantly...

"Whoa!"

A hand pushes Lawrence's chest. Adam. Adam's slipping on the floor.

Instinctively, Lawrence catches Adam by putting his arms under Adam's underarms as he falls back. Adam's eyes widen, and he looks up at Lawrence.

Quick.

"Whoa, man, that was quick," Adam half-laughs, standing back up straight. "Thanks."

Bones.

The bones in Adam's body.

He'd felt them.

Lawrence felt them.

He understands it now. He understands why he had felt that way before.

Why he feels a blush creeping underneath his skin as he turns to the door.

"No problem," he croaks, leaving Adam in the bathroom.

He wants Adam.

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REVIEW! Please? XD 


	3. Knowing Your Own Insanity

This is 00One X00 with a new penname! Oh my God, guys... I know it's been forever, but I no longer have a laptop... Therefore, I cannot make regular updates like I used to. Yeah, I hate it. But I can't do much about it. So sorry if it takes forever to update! However, I am available for messaging since I have a DSi with internet now. So enjoy yourselves, kids. XD Enjoy the next chapter!

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**2: Knowing Your Own Insanity**

Lawrence knows he's crazy.

He doesn't need a psychiatrist to tell him he's crazy. He knows it already, knows it like the way he knows if his clothes are done in the washing machine or the way he knows he's going to wake up in the morning. He knows he's crazy. He knows it so well that he would admit it if he could.

And yet, while he knows he's crazy, he also knows very well that he means that thought. _He wants Adam. _And it would surprise him. Surprise him that it's only taken one conversation and a small mishap for him to have an attraction to another man.

It _should _surprise him. But it _doesn't. _

Because he's become so jaded to having quick attractions. He's so jaded to it happening so quickly that it hasn't become something for him to really think about. And he doesn't think about it anymore. He doesn't need to. He just knows what he wants.

And if you're Lawrence Gordon, you learn how to get what you want. You learn to get yourself further. How else could Lawrence start out as a nerd in school and then turn into one of the most important, prestigious doctors at this hospital? How could you get so smart in medical school and not learn to use that brain power for something else?

Lawrence has a hobby, a hobby that... most people don't usually have. He knows about people, knows how to manipulate their behaviors. Like someone trying to coax a cat to play with yarn. That's why his patients like him so much. That's why they always thank him with a warm smile instead of a polite yet awkward stare. He gets their respect and their admiration and their trust. And his patients do what he says.

He likes it that way. And at this point, he wouldn't change his manipulative abilities. He likes the fact that he's such a smooth-talker, that everyone likes him, that he has no enemies. He likes the fact that his female medical students blush whenever they have to ask him a question or when they just want to have a small chat with him.

Lawrence smiles at that thought as he walks through the hall, charts in his hand. One of the nurses gives him a "Hi, Dr. Gordon!" but he just simply gives her a small wave and smiles to himself. He's proud of himself. Proud of how much he's respected, of how much people love him.

And then there's Adam. Someone who sticks out like a spaghetti stain on a white T-shirt, the one obscenity in this hospital that isn't really respected, but still sticks out. He pushes his cleaning cart, an unnoticed orderly, but Lawrence notices. He notices him. He hasn't noticed him before, and he could kick himself for that. But he notices the small frame now, daring to smoke in the hospital, but looking over his shoulder cautiously as a nurse walks behind him.

Lawrence crosses his arms, half-amused.

_Everybody knows what you're doing, Adam. Or at least I do. It's not hard to get with the smoke cloud floating above your head._

Adam's eyes finally meet Lawrence's.

Why are they such a pretty color? Why do they have to be so gray?

Adam doesn't even look at him for more than two seconds, and the look is so awkward anyways that it doesn't really mean much. Lawrence sees him take a drag on his cigarette and then push his cleaning cart further down the hall.

Lawrence leans against the wall.

He's never really noticed Adam before today, of course, but now that he thinks about it...

Isn't Adam that really sensitive, angry kid who works here?

The kid who can't work anywhere near the ER?

The one who yells very audibly if he drops something?

Come to think fo it, Lawrence _has _noticed him before. Just never really stopped to think about him. Never saw him as that big a deal.

But today, he notices him. He _wants _to think about him. Hell, he wants to even want him.

He's wanted so many other people. So many other people that it's always been jaded in his mind.

But Adam...

Something about Adam's different. Maybe it's the way he looks, the look in his eyes as the nurse snaps at him for smoking indoors. His cautious, angry faces he makes. The way he looks like he's really scared of the world, scared of growing up and taking responsibility, but at the same time...

At the same time, he's flipping the world off and giving it a big _fuck you._

So childish.

Adam's the world's victim.

No, Adam is Lawrence's victim.

Lawrence has become so jaded that not even that small thought scares him, doesn't surprise him one bit. He likes the fact that Adam is a _victim. _A kicked puppy. An abused kitten. He wouldn't change it.

There's a heart beating in that body down the hall, a heart that will soon become Lawrence's. A heart that will thud so hard with it's _b-dmp b-dmp b-dmp _noise, a heart that will envoke such heavy breathing and a chorus of moans.

It'll be Lawrence's heart soon.

And it will stop dead, just like all the others.

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Lawrence is such a cold bastard right now. XD Don't worry, he's still his awesome, emotionally numb, adorable self! :D So... Since I provided you a chapter, ya think ya can provide me some reviews? :D See ya, peeps!


	4. Ready or Not

Heheheh... You guys, I wanted to give you another chapter, just to be nice, since I won't be on again for a long while. Please enjoy the sexy and sadistic Lawrence Gordon, and his small, hot piece of ass Adam! XD

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**3: Ready Or Not**

Lawrence already knows how he's going to get Adam.

Pretty much the same way he gets every victim, in his own manipulative way. He's good at that. He should be. He's a doctor. He's got to know how to coax everyone, to get them to do what they want.

If he couldn't have what he wanted in his childhood, then why shouldn't Lawrence have what he wants now? Give and take. It's only right. Right?

Lawrence takes off his white, stainless lab coat, done for the day. He fidgets with his tie as he stares at his desk, and all of the lovely little irrelevant trinkets and picture frames on it. He doesn't really look at the pictures anymore. Not like he used to. Not like he used to want to.

But today, he finds himself picking up one of those golden picture frames.

He stares at the picture of a little girl, maybe about eight or nine, smiling big in a regular school photo. This is the only photo Lawrence has left of her. His daughter. Diana. This is all he has left.

Lawrence smiles. Doesn't smile that stupid awkward doctor smile like so many doctors give their patients on a daily basis. He just smiles. Smiles a sort of nostalgic smile.

_I'm sorry, Diana... I'm sorry, Ally... Things just happen. It isn't right, I know. But... _

Lawrence puts down the picture and shakes his head, sweeping a hand through his dirty blonde, perfect hair.

_It isn't right. But... Right has a different definition for everyone. _

When you have an addiction, that addiction is the only thing that's really right to you. Your only drive is the desire to feed that addiction. Addiction is the only thing that matters.

Lawrence has an addiction. He has a drive to feed that addiction, while covering up all the mess afterwards.

Adam is nothing more than another dying heart to feed Lawrence's addiction, and then Lawrence will move onto the next victim. That's all there is to it. Adam will just be another drive, and then he'll be gone. Just like all the others.

Lawrence has a plan. And he'll go through with it. Tonight.

Even though he just met Adam, he'll go through with it. Tonight. Because nobody will miss an orderly, a little guy who only blends into the walls, a little guy who's really quite irrelevant to the whole hospital scene.

Lawrence walks out of his office, locking it and twirling the keys with his finger.

"Whoa!"

Lawrence collides into Adam like a car crash, and Adam jumps, surprised by the sudden collision. He takes the headphones out of his ears and mutters, "Dude, I gotta learn to be more careful apparently..."

Lawrence chuckles and smiles at the little guy. Looks down at him. How tall is he? 5'7? Well... How old is he? Maybe... twenty? Twenty-one? There's a lot Lawrence doesn't even know about this little guy. Not yet.

"Maybe you do," jokes the doctor good-naturedly. "Listen, Adam, I know this may seem weird... But how would you like to go get a drink with me or something? I don't know you too well, but you seem like a pretty nice guy."

That's it, Lawrence. Break the ice.

"Nah, I gotta get home to Demi."

Lawrence arches his eyebrow. "Demi?" he prods.

"Ah, my girlfriend. She lives with me, and she's a pain in my ass."

Lawrence laughs despite the vulgar language, but Adam remains serious, like it's not a joke at all, like he means it.

Well, whoever this Demi Whatever is, she's is most likely a pain in the ass, then.

"I'm sure she could wait a little bit for you to get home, Adam," Lawrence says, frowning. "Come on. I'll pay for the drinks. Don't be such a priss."

Priss!

"Priss!" Adam blurts out, laughing. "I'll have you fucking know, Dr. Gordon, that I'm not a fucking priss. You make me sound like a pussy, the way you talk about me." He pauses, stopping to think for a moment.

Oh, his grayish green eyes...

"Fine, I'll have a drink with you. But I'm not staying out too late. I don't really like being out at night. There's some creepy shit that goes on in this city, Dr. Gordon."

"Lawrence."

Adam blinks. "There's some creepy shit that goes on in this city, Lawrence."

Lawrence nods, acting like he understands perfectly. Because he _does _ understand perfectly. "Yeah, there are some real weirdoes," he mutters softly, and pauses, his blue eyes staring off into space. Unspoken thoughts flickering behind his blue gaze.

No truer words have ever been spoken.

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Lawrence doesn't know how he did it. Doesn't know how he got Adam to go past his drink limit. Doesn't know how he persuaded him to, but Adam's such a sucker for drinks, apparently, that it worked, it really worked, and now Adam...

Adam is drunk.

Adam is completely drunk, and not all happy-dancy drunk like some people get. He's depressed, and crying, and laying his head down on the bar counter, not letting anyone look at him. When Adam's drunk, he doesn't want anyone to look at him, doesn't want to talk to anyone so they hear the slight slur in his voice.

The way Lawrence has avoided getting drunk is because he's only been taking little baby sips of his own tequila, and Adam didn't notice.

Does it really take the phrase "I can drink more than you" to get another person intoxicated?

Adam's pale. He looks sick. As he holds the beer bottle in one hand and rests his arm on the other, he looks sick, looks pale, and his skin is a grayish color. He looks sick. He acts sick. He's just... Ill. Like it looks like he could turn over and vomit all over you if you made even one slight movement in his direction.

"You all right?" Lawrence asks, sipping his tequila slightly, looking at Adam with his peripheral vision. Adam's fingers jerk a certain way when he asks this, and he doesn't respond at all at first.

"No... Fucking. NO!" Adam shouts, loud even though the shout is muffled by his face being buried in his arm sleeve. Lawrence sees a few people glance in Adam's direction.

"Maybe we ought to get you home," Lawrence murmurs closer to Adam, helping him sit his head up, but Adam's head just crashes back onto the counter with a loud slam. Not a yelp escapes him. He just stays in the same position.

Lawrence puts one arm under Adam's and helps him into a standing position, but Adam snaps, "No, I want another drink! Gimme another drink, Lawrence!" His snap is pathetic, and Lawrence's name just comes out as a horrible whimper. But he doesn't struggle, surprisingly. He just lets Lawrence take him to his car after their drinks are paid for, lets himself be dragged through the bar looking like a complete dumbass.

Adam's head bobs, and his eyes are closed, like he's already fallen asleep. Lawrence opens the door with his free hand, and helps Adam lay down in the back seat.

Yeah, Adam's already out. Like a light in a storm.

Soft breathing is the only sound that fills the air right now despite the sound of the slight night breeze. Adam's chest moves up and down, and his mouth is wide open. He's out.

And... it's weird.

For some reason, it's weird.

The reason it's weird is because a strange feeling somehow skates its way down Lawrence's backbone. It's the feeling of... It's almost a stranger, because Lawrence hasn't had to feel it for so long, hasn't had to feel it's effects...

It's the feeling of remorse.

Like Lawrence actually _regrets _these decisions he's making tonight, like he regrets already what he's going to do with Adam, like he regrets throwing Adam away and he hasn't even started with him yet.

He _regrets. _Seeing Adam sleep so soundly in the back seat actually makes Lawrence _regret._

_But that's not right, Lawrence, _a small voice in the back of Lawrence's head whispers. _You should never get emotionally attached to one of your playthings. Just screw the damn kid and kill him. Easy. No one will ever be any the wiser._

_Right. Screw him and kill him._

_That's what the plan's been all along. Stick to it._

_Right. Screw him and kill him._

"Oh, Adam..." Lawrence leans over Adam's small chest and plants a long kiss on his jawline. Adam's eyes flutter, but he doesn't move or wake up. He just breathes. That's good. This is easy.

Lawrence reaches up Adam's shirt and traces the cool, pale chest, feeling each one of his individual ribs. They're small-why are they so small? They feel like fucking twigs, jeez, like every other bone in Adam's small frame. God, they're twigs.

The remorse goes away, and some sort of arousal makes it way through Lawrence. Because he's become so horny, because he's having such an erection right now that... That he KNOWS he wants to fucking do this, and screw all of that regret he was feeling just a minute ago, because he _has _to do this, he _has _to go through with this...

Adam turns his head to one side and Lawrence strokes his cheek with his thumb, smiling just a little bit to himself.

The urge to fuck Adam right now is too much, but he's got to get home, get Adam under lock and key, because there are too many people, too many people out here to witness what Lawrence so desperately wants to occur right fucking now.

It's almost too much.

"Are we going home?" slurs Adam suddenly, no spaces between his words. Lawrence jerks his head up and looks at Adam straight in his half-open eyes. Fear pricks Lawrence's spine with icy claws, and Lawrence nods, just a little too quickly.

Content with that answer, Adam says something completely incoherent and gibberish that Lawrence allows himself to breathe a heavy sigh of relief. He gives Adam a small kiss on the cheek, fixes his shirt, and then leaves him in the back seat.

Lawrence gets in the front, gripping the steering wheel with tight fingers.

No regret. Just do this and get it over with.

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Is it wrong that I find this completely hot? XD Review, please! Or I may cancel the story!


	5. Into the Nothing

This… is it. This is where the shit hits the fan. This is the big chapter. I've never written this sort of thing before, but… This is it. XD Um… Be nice if it blows/sucks. (Bad pun. XD)

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**4: Into the Nothing**

When you wake up from a dream, you usually realize in some way almost instantaneously that it really is a dream. You're covered in sweat, usually you have tears in your eyes if it's a nightmare.

And when Adam's eye open into tiny gray slits, a few memories wash over him, clearly something that could've happened years ago. They're so vague, and as the headache claps its angry, intoxicated hands into Adam's forehead, he has an inkling that these recollections might even be from a different life.

A car. Dark. Hands, cold, shaking hands and a tremoring voice.

Why does Adam remember this? It doesn't really seem like it ever happened, it could just be some sort of fucked-up dream. It has to be non-existent, because Adam is at home, he's…

No, no. He's not at home. He's in a completely different house, but it's definitely not familiar in any way, shape, or form. In fact, he's never seen this place or ever been near it before. The room is completely dark with the exception of the few streams of light that escape from the wood of the boarded windows.

Boarded. Boarded windows. Someone's not supposed to see in this house. Someone's not supposed to catch a glimpse of what might happen here.

Adam sits up on the couch. Yes, he's on a couch, a cold-against-your-fragile-skin-leather couch. His body sways when he puts on foot on the floor, the hangover fist hammering its angry self on his head. "Fuck…" he pants, making another effort to stand. This time he succeeds, but only briefly before the ground comes to meet his face.

Picture a fat guy tripping. Picture, with your vivid imagination, Adam hungover and stupidly crashing down on his face with his antonymous body trembling.

"_Where do you think you're going, little one?"_

The sharp voice gets Adam to flinch, gets his palms to push him back up into a standing position. Gets him to whirl around and gaze back at… at a shadow, leaning on the wall with its black arms crossed.

That voice. That too reaches the surface of Adam's short term memory. But the name certainly doesn't reach it, doesn't even scratch it.

Pieces are left in Adam's mind of that scene in the car. He desperately needs to glue them back together, figure out why he's here, why he's being kidnapped or whatever.

Doorknob. To the left.

Adam half-leaps to the door, his hands fastening around the gleaming silver nob.

Turn.

Pull.

_Do it._

Too late.

His brain, his pulsating, throbbing, hungover brain just doesn't send the signals to his hands fast enough, so a hand swipes at the back of his head and sends his face into the door. Adam's teeth instantly grind deep into his lower lip. The sharp, metallic tang of blood consequently spreads over his tongue.

A hand pushes on his back, holds him against the splintered door. Strong. Firm. Unpleasant, but still holding him there, holding him still, holding him. "Hello," the voice hisses. "I don't think you got the message, Adam, so I'll just spell it out for you. You're not going _anywhere." _The hands leave Adam's back, only to slide their frigid way down to his thin, thin waist.

_Oh my God. You're _kidding _me._

Adam immediately jerks backwards, pushing the black figure along with him, but only one second later does a fresh, scalding hot wave of pain and terror enter Adam's body.

That raises a huge-ass scream from his hoarse throat.

Pain.

Picture the side of your body being burnt off. Picture breaking your leg. That's what being cut from the very tip of your spine to your navel might compare to.

The wound's not ridiculously deep. But warmth coats the base of Adam's shirt quickly. Face twisting at the burning flesh wound, he starts to remember. The shards start arranging themselves back together, start the recollections again.

In the darkness of the car…

The person who he left the hospital with to get a few drinks.

_A few drinks my ass._

Lawrence.

Lawrence fucking Gordon.

Who else?

Why didn't he remember before?

Fucking bastard.

Cruel, crazy, manipulative fucking bastard.

After a few deep breaths, Adam whispers quietly, "Wh-why are you doing this? Wh-why are you doing this to me?"

Suddenly Adam finds himself on his back, facing cold, icy, malicious blue eyes. He can finally see Lawrence's heavy smirk, see it at least a tiny bit.

"Because I need you," murmurs Lawrence simply, his hands gripping the black buttons of Adam's two-big flannel jacket. "You're going to stay here with me. The way you talk, the way you look, even the way you smoke… I'll need that. I'll never let you share that with anyone else."

Hisses. Breathes in Adam's ear.

"You're _mine."_

Tainted.

As Lawrence pulls the collars of both his shirts down over his shoulder, as Lawrence's tongue traces over his skinny collarbone, Adam is tainted and dirty.

Like never before.

It would be different if it were Demi doing this to him. If it were her, Adam wouldn't be shuddering. If anything, his eyes would be covered with that unconscious mist that insomnia gives him.

And Demi's eyes wouldn't be so fucking evil, so fucking _desperate._

It'd make more sense if this fucking crazy doctor's eyes were empty. But since they're blazing with an undefined passionate lust and desperation, it doesn't make sense at all, only lets Adam know that there's no going back, there's no getting out, there's no fucking running away from any of this crap.

He's stuck in the middle of the world's biggest pile of shit. Feet glued to the floor. Body stuck.

"Please…" Adam whispers, no, rasps, the tears his holding back pressing against the backs of his eyes and throat. No, don't cry, there's no crying, not now, not now.

The blood boils beneath Adam's skin, his temperature rising with every infinite second he's stuck on this door.

And he hates himself instantly when Lawrence's lips glide over his. More than Demi. Hell, even more that Lawrence. He detests himself because he's such a baby, he's too small, too weak, too scared to even begin to try to fight back again. Detests that some part of his body actually enjoys this, even though his tongue won't under any circumstances play back.

Fear sparks into Adam's chest, rises up and engulfs his body in sobs. Of course, that doesn't get Lawrence to back away or give Adam any sympathy. But his mouth does leave Adam's for a moment, a slight string of saliva still connecting them.

Adam whines.

"Hush, now, Adam," he purrs, stroking the dark brown, wavy hair on Adam's head. Lawrence's voice is the kind of velvet dress you would pay a dollar for in a thrift store. "It'll be over soon."

Adam's eyes don't close. They just don't.

Condemned. Condemned. He's been condemned.

He'll just let Lawrence get it out of his system. There's nothing he can do to stop him, he's so goddamn worthless, so fucking vulnerable!

Lawrence slides a hand down Adam's pants and over his thigh stroking it. God, his hands are so fucking hot, his heart's pounding against Adam's chest.

Why?

_Please, please._

No.

_Please._

No. Hell no.

Lawrence's hand unbuttons and unzips Adam's jeans. Pulls down Adam's jeans and his underwear. Brushes over Adam's bloody navel.

They're both hot. They're both so hot.

"No—"

When Lawrence slides his palm over Adam's cock, the orderly silences completely. "You'll get used to this," he promises, more or less hisses to Adam. His tongue forces its merry way back into Adam's mouth again, so Adam's left moaning when Lawrence doesn't take it out for an extended period of time.

_Yes._

Lawrence wants this, needs his heart to beat this fast, needs to sweat and make Adam moan like this. This is what he's looking for, this is what he needs to feed his blackened heart. He needs to hear this, needs to disappear under Adam's pale, soft skin and never come out. Needs continue plundering his mouth.

He pulls Adam's shirts over his head and throws them onto the carpet. Pulls his own pants and underwear down.

Skin touches.

Adam doesn't fight it. He should, but he doesn't.

Lawrence kisses down, down across Adam's neck, across Adam's chest, over his stomach, his mouth wide open.

Fuck.

Adam throws his head back instantly as Lawrence's mouth engulfs his erection, covering it with saliva and sucking.

Sucking.

Sucking.

Sucking.

This doesn't happen.

This isn't real.

People just don't do this.

Not in this world.

Lawrence's hot mouth isn't here.

Adam's dreaming.

He never went to work today.

He never woke up.

This is what insomnia does to you.

You don't sleep. You're not awake.

Everything's a dream.

A copy.

A hallucination.

Lawrence releases Adam's cock from his mouth with a throaty, lustful growl. Turns Adam over and bangs the little one's head back against the door. At least this time Adam's teeth don't bang into his lip.

Quickly, Lawrence pushes his own cock into Adam, and Adam's chest comes to life, moans tumble out, whimpers and desperate pleas for help make their way out of his mouth, his dirty, infected open mouth.

Lawrence might as well be a thousand degrees. God, he's so hot, so fucking smoldering hot as his tongue licks his way over Adam's naked, unprotected neck.

Why doesn't Adam fight?

Raped.

Raped.

Raped.

You don't fight. Not right now. Not when you're this afraid, not when you're not sure if you're awake or asleep.

Adam could be dead.

But that would just be too easy.

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Like I said, please be nice when you review! XD I tried as best I could! Love it? XD


	6. The Hunger Inside Me

Helloooooo, helloooo, hellooooo! How is everyone doing? I decided it was time for an update. (Yes , I know I have other stories I desperately need to update, but I'd already written out the idea for this chapter. NO COMPLAINING!) And I need something to perk me up, since my Adam's Open Wounds YouTube MV wouldn't upload the way I wanted to. I had to cut it short… -.- FuckTube, that's what it is. Anyways, enjoy a post-rape chapter! :D

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**5: The Hunger Inside Me**

Blackout.

That's what you would do at this point.

The lights are on, but nobody's home.

We probably came in around this part.

The part where Adam's now down in the basement, his head between his knees, strapped to a chair, his arms cut up from Lawrence's blade, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

God, his mouth is so dry. It hurts to swallow, hurts to sob like this. Adam couldn't sob before, not with Lawrence watching him with desperate blue eyes. Couldn't allow himself to, because it's a sign of weakness, and even while being raped, he's not going to back down.

Now it's all right, it's okay even though he can't do one fucking thing about it.

And then it happens. The door opens, a tad bit of light floods into the dim room.

Light is a bad thing now. It can't be a good thing down here, where everything's tainted and dirty, spoiled and rotten just like Adam's body. Marked by Lawrence's hands and his fucking mouth.

Just let him die. Just let him sleep here and never wake up, because death has to be better than the angry rats nibbling at his feet, with their thin, pointed, ravenous eyes. Death must be better than what Adam's life has become now.

A captive. A prisoner. A slave. Someone owned by someone else. Someone bought or sold.

Put a gun to his head. Pull the trigger. Let his brains splatter over the walls.

Adam's selfish. He knows this for a fact.

_There are starving children in Europe going through much worse, baby amputees in Haiti that will never again get to use that arm that they've lost. _Sharp, bitter words from someone who could care less about Adam's problems, even though she says she loves him, she says she wants a life with him.

Demi.

As strange as it is, Adam misses Demi.

He hates that clingy, manipulative bitch for staying with him just because he makes a decent earning in this world. But just because he detests that satisfied smile she gives him after he's gotten paid doesn't mean he can't miss her. She's given him something, whatever that something may be.

And now she's gone.

Adam misses his dad.

His father has never been in Adam's life, at least not after he turned six. That night after Adam's sixth birthday, when Adam's father had woke him up and begged him to help him load his suitcase into his father's car, he'd smiled. He'd patted Adam's head and murmured, "Good job, son."

And Adam will never forget the sound of his father's car roaring out of the driveway.

Adam hasn't seen him since.

Except for the occasional child support checks that had arrived in the mail to Adam's mom until Adam had turned eighteen and moved the hell out, he just hasn't been a part of Adam's life.

He's gone.

Adam misses his mom.

His mother has always been a bitch, an ignorant whore fucking her clients, screaming and bouncing around and slamming things and making her bed springs creak and creak with every rock. Adam could even hear her and her clients screaming when he'd come home from school every day or come home from whichever place he'd been ditching to.

She hasn't really been a part of his life either. Even when she was home, she wasn't really home. Adam always had to cook for himself and do his own laundry. He ran the house, and she just lived in it. Adam and his mother never really talked to each other. They really only just barked at each other—when she wasn't encouraging Adam's streaks of bulimia.

At least she could tell him to shut up and to stop his fucking crying right this minute, say that there are more important things in this world and Adam needs to grow the hell up.

She's gone.

And now all Adam has left are those cold blue eyes. Lawrence's dead eyes in front of his face, slamming him against the door, digging his nails into his arms and biting down on the soft flesh on Adam's neck…

The blonde doctor—_no, he's a rapist, remember—_the blonde rapist is standing at the door, his lips curled up in a friendly, _I can do whatever I want to you and get away with it _smile. Dressed in a blue T-shirt, black pants, and a black trench coat, his arms are crossed.

The scream isn't Adam's.

It might be the Adam from last night, or however fucking long ago that happened, he's so tired, he can't remember, but it's certainly not the Adam from right now.

It can't be, can't be the same person that the rats flee from when they see Lawrence standing there. It's not the same person whose scream sounds like a loud screech with no surface behind it. "Shut the hell up," Lawrence says, almost joyfully. Adam shuts up almost immediately.

Adam takes a deep, shallow breath and holds it in, his eyes staring at the floor wide open. He hasn't eaten since… He doesn't know when he's eaten last, hasn't kept track of time, but he can still feel the warm acid of bile rising to his throat.

He ate yesterday.

Right.

Then he shoved his fingers down his throat and vomited it all up like he usually does, his screaming stomach squeezed and compressed and trying to keep it all down, but Adam wouldn't let it, wouldn't let himself gain even the smallest bit of weight.

The bile doesn't come out, thank God it doesn't spill on Adam's moist-from-blood and moist-from-piss jeans. It still sears his throat, makes his eyes water, but it's okay, he's still safe.

Safe from digested food on his jeans.

"How are your wounds treating you?"

_How the fuck would I know, you bastard?_

Not answering, Adam just stares at the floor, just gawks at the floor with half-closed gray eyes since it's the easiest thing to look at right now.

The question.

It comes a second time, this time with Lawrence holding Adam's chin roughly in his hand, his other head craning his head back so an electric shock shoots through it. Adam gasps and _has _to look at him now, has to focus.

"Are you going to answer me, Adam?" purrs Lawrence, his thumb pressing on Adam's hoarse throat, his voice losing that sweet thrift store dress velvet it had had before. Now it's just the sick words of a really horny rapist.

Adam feels a dry sob scratch over his throat.

_I want food. Please. I just want food._

With his mom's _do it and you'll never get fat _etched into his mind his entire childhood, he's never begged for food before. Well, he's not really being now, just pleading in his head, but he's never done this before.

Sobbing again, Adam coughs dryly when he feels Lawrence pushing on his throat like this. How's he supposed to talk if this bastard's trying to choke him?

_Food. Food._

_I want food. I don't care what it fucking is. I want it._

The growl in Adam's stomach shakes his body, and the hunger immediately gets worse, presses on his screaming stomach almost the way Lawrence is pressing on his throat.

How the fuck is Adam supposed to answer—

He's not supposed to.

Or, if he's supposed to, he's not going to.

Adam plans.

He's always been at war with the world, everyone's always taken him for granted or forced him to do something he doesn't want to do.

_I'm so fucking tired of this._

That thought does not make him throw up.

Does not push the sobs out of his throat.

Makes him start to tremble, but not in fear this time. This time in absolute fury, this time in absolute _rage, _and this time his hands ball up into fists.

It's getting much harder to keep sobbing and feeling sorry for himself.

He's not going to sell his soul to this… this… devil. If he's got nothing to rely on, if he's going to be raped again…

He's going to fucking fight for his freedom.

And if fighting's going to kill him, he's ready to die.

Adam's ready to die.

It's just another day in Adam's life.

Adam jerks his head downward and sinks his teeth into Lawrence's hand, biting down on the soft flesh as hard as he can, even when liquid metal reaches the roof of his mouth and goes down his throat.

Lawrence screams, high-pitched and in a way that doesn't sound like him. His surprised fist connects with Adam's head multiple times until it's bleeding and Adam's forced to bite down even harder.

"Let go of me, you fucking cunt!" Lawrence snarls, using his other hand to jerk Adam's head back again. Gasping at the new jolt of electricity shooting up his spine, Adam releases Lawrence's hand and spits the blood right onto the crazy doctor's cheek.

"Fuck you, fuck me, fuck everything, I'm fucking tired of you, you sick rapist!"

Lawrence's eyes glitter with something unspoken as he holds his bleed hand, Adam going on. He wipes Adam's spit off of his cheek.

"You know what your problem is, _other than _being a rapist? You saw me walking around with my own fucking happy life and you just couldn't handle it, could you, _Lawrence?"_

Acid.

Venom.

Lye.

Scorch Lawrence to the bone.

"You said, 'Hey, this guy looks happy enough to fuck with, so why don't I make him cry and suck his cock on my knees?'!"

It's not anger that flickers through Lawrence's eyes.

What else could it be?

"'How _dare _he go unfucked! _HOW DARE HE NOT BE WITH ME AND BE HIS LITTLE BOYTOY!'"_

Adam screams that last sentence with so much hate for the blonde doctor who fucked him last night.

"Why don't you fucking masturbate if you need sex so much, ass-wipe? It seems to suit you."

The slap.

It happens so fast that Adam's brain barely has time to register its happening before it happens again, and again. He barely has time to register the fire that spreads over his cheek.

A wall of hatred masking a crumbled wall of fear.

That's all Lawrence is. That's all he'll ever be to Adam.

It doesn't make much sense.

It doesn't make any sense when Lawrence walks to the door, looks back at him for a few seconds, walks out, and locks the door.

And Adam's left here completely dumbstruck, still hungry, still in pain.

Yeah. That worked.

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Adam's different.

There's something different about Adam, something that sets him apart from all of the other victims Lawrence has had.

He's afraid of Lawrence of course.

But he's not afraid enough not to strike back.

Every victim's done almost exactly what Lawrence has said, and if they hadn't, Lawrence had raped them again, eventually got bored of them, and killed them.

He didn't rape Adam again this time.

_Why?_

As Lawrence stands in his bedroom doorway, he doesn't have an answer to that question.

Adam's different. Adam's alive. Adam can't be tamed.

He realizes that now.

Adam is smart, and he knows how to get what he wants, even if he's suffering through bondage right now. He's afraid, but at the same time… He's free.

_How?_

For that…

Lawrence has to kill Adam.

He has to kill him as quickly as possible.

_I know if I go back down there, I won't do it._

Gray eyes. They won't let him.

Adam's different.

Lawrence knew he would be different.

When they were in the car and that feeling of high fluttered through the heart pounding in Lawrence's chest, when Lawrence had his fingers on Adam's nipple, he knew this would happen.

_You have feelings for one of your playthings again._

Adam didn't even have to do anything for that to happen.

_You pussy. You weak, spineless cunt._

Now he has to die, now that Lawrence is attached.

He can't hurt Adam. He knows he'll just end up freeing him if he goes back down there, tries to stab him.

So he can do two things at once.

Let Adam bleed to death.

Let Adam starve to death.

Lawrence won't even have to touch him.

He can just stay up here and ignore him for however long it takes.

Adam has to die.

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Will Adam starve to death? Will Lawrence end up setting him free? Why am I asking _you _these questions even though I know the answers? Find out in the next chapter of Affection's Victim! ONLY IF YOU REVIEW AND DISCUSS ADAM'S DEFIANT HOTNESS. :D


	7. Let's See How You Die

Whee. Another chapter for the world's best fans. You people kick ass. (: And you know you do. Anyways, enjoy or I just might have to hit you with a bat. :D

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**6:**

The screams and desperate pleas for help are what wake Lawrence up that night. At first he's not sure if they're his own screams, or Adam's, or maybe someone who's been shot on the street or whatever, but whatever the case, it takes his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness and to realize the damned screams are still coming from the basement.

And he would give anything for them to just… Stop. To turn off, to die out like an old radio. Lawrence turns over on his side in his queen-sized bed, his heavy, spent eyes wide open.

Yes, well, it's Adam who's definitely doing the screaming, only because Lawrence's throat would be nearly fucking throbbing if he were to scream that loud for this long. God, it has to be four o clock in the morning. And it doesn't help that Lawrence can hear the little orderly's screams through the air vent, doesn't help that he wants to go down there and silence him once and for all.

_You've never killed this way before, _the little monster in Lawrence's head tells him. The doctor rubs his temples, inhaling through his nose sharply. _It's going to be okay. Just be patient. He'll shut up soon. He's a fucking anorexic—you realized it from the first time you saw him. You know the symptoms. He's weaker than you would be if you were in his situation. He won't last much longer._

But whenever Lawrence sits up and attempts to slow his breathing, he realizes that this is stupid, that he's going to have to give in sometime and go down there and either stab him or set him free. And either way is bad, bad, bad, because he knows he'll end up freeing Adam or leaving a really large, bloody mess. And the second choice…

It just doesn't seem like the party it used to.

_I can't fucking take this._

This is really fucking tedious. There's a living, breathing person downstairs, rats eating at his feet, his insides hollow. His name is Adam, Adam James Faulkner—it says so on his ID. Blood-type: AB-. Age twenty-six, hair extremely dark brown, eyes gray.

He's young, he's a fucking little angry kid who hates the world he lives in, but he's so _perfect, _so much more than every other victim, just because he has the ability to… fight back. Because he has the ability to control Lawrence with his eyes and his scathing words. And it's not like the others didn't have a few choice words for him, but they don't move him the same way Adam does.

And why the hell is that?

Lawrence gets up, shaking his head.

_Kill the fucking little prick. He's weak, you have him tied fucking down. You can kill again._

He's too weak for this now. He's a _doctor, _you would never think of him as a rapist, because he's not the criminal type. You would never see him on Law and Order SVU, but then again, you would, wouldn't you? Doctors can be the perfect rapists, because no one would expect them to kidnap younger men and distort them. No one would expect them to kill.

What do you do when you're at a stalemate?

When you can't make a decision?

What do you do when you want to step into the light, but you're so used to the dark after you've been wallowing in it throughout your entire existence?

What do you do when you want to save, but the best thing to do would be to murder?

When you want to learn what it's like to feel love, when you would like to let someone in, but you've screwed up so bad, you've probably ruined everything for yourself, and you want to have someone to hold, but this is all you know?

It's weird for Lawrence to think he's ignorant for once in his life. By the time he was sixteen, he knew the name for just about every disease you would just happen to get, knew how to treat it—that's what happens when you watch so many documentaries on hypertension, cancer, blood plasma, and bone marrow when you're younger. Lawrence used go sit in his foster home all day doing nothing but reading and writing, because his foster parents didn't care what he did.

Now he's an adult, and yes, he's rich, yes, he's a fucking genius to some, but maybe he's not so intelligent now that he's sitting on a bed a floor away from the torture he's forced upon an innocent younger male, who even tried to be friendly (in his own way) at first. The people who work with Lawrence are so infatuated with him. He's also ignorant, but shouldn't be. He's only ignorant because he thought he would always love each and every victim, but never enough to keep them around and truly commit to them.

How to you commit when you've fucked up so bad?

Lawrence has never doubted himself before, but now he's got to. Nodding to himself, Lawrence gets out of bed and puts on his coat—ready to go back down his algid basement Adam's more or less been calling home for about two days right now.

He'll choose murder now. He's going to have to. His routine should not be stopped for this… kid. This stupid chain-smoking kid, for fuck's sake. The doctor's feet carry him to the door leading down his basement.

_What's my reason for this?_

The screams, the moans, the pitiful cries of pain. Restrained victims, bleeding out, infected wounds, naked bodies, wide eyes.

Lawrence shivers as he hand approaches the door knob at a pace far too slow for comfort.

_Should I remember?_

The hand never, ever completes its journey to the knob. Instead, it's yanked open in the next second, and blue eyes instantly meet gray.

"Hi there."

The feminine voice. The wounded arms, the stained shirt. The one eye that's closed because the cut above it is bleeding into it.

Quiescence hangs over the room, a think line of awkwardness.

Adam got fucking free.

Standing in the ominous silence, mental fingers wrack Lawrence's brain to find the answer to how Adam got free, he's not supposed to be free, he's supposed to wait for Lawrence, the fingers ravage and wrack and search and ransack until finally…

The gun fires.

The belts used to tie Adam down were old, raggedy belts, used on so many other victims, they're probably years old. Adam could've just pulled his way out by wiggling enough and tearing the leather. Or he could've torn the belts open with his teeth.

And Lawrence was so ready to get Adam down there after he fucked the boy senseless that he didn't even bother to make sure he was secured properly. He's an idiot. Lawrence is a God damn idiot.

So now this is where they are, face to face, and Adam was probably excited to earn the salvation he desire, ready to run free like a loping little horse in a Disney movie. And now it's all crushed. Flattened under a tire of a big pickup truck.

"What the _fuck _do you think you're doing?" Lawrence hears himself spit. Adam just stares back at him, mouth agape, completely dumbstruck. He has a right to be—he was so ready to get out, but then, he should've known that something like this would bite him in the ass.

"I, uh… I…" Adam stammers, and blinks as the files explode in his head, as the words seem to come to him. "Well, you see, I was freezing my ass off down there. Wanted to see if I could turn on the radiator."

"Mm."

As fast as a car hitting a passing civilian, Lawrence grabs Adam by his neck and snarls into his face like a wolf, "Looks like you were trying to escape, you sad little fucker."

And Adam tries to pry the fingers off his throat, but ends up gasping and sputtering and coughing, but Lawrence only squeezes tighter, tighter, his hand his a noose, and God, it's so great, it's so fantastic because it's Lawrence who has the power now, Adam's rapid pulse beating against his hand. It's fucking gorgeous, just like every other sense of power that washes over Lawrence like a golden wave, because it's a heart he's stopping, he has the power to stop the awful pulsating.

And it's wonderful until Adam's knee bangs into Lawrence's crotch.

The hand releases Adam's throat, and oxygen can find his lungs again, thank God. Adam's face and throat sear, his head feels like he's been upside down for thirty minutes, but he's going to be okay. He just knows one thing—he's got to make it out of here, out of here while he still has a chance.

Adam hacks and chokes, his hand on his throat after both he and Lawrence drop to the floor. _Fuck you._

He runs.

Adam runs for his pathetic life, slowed by his injuries, but there's no way his body will quit on him at this point. He's going to leave this time.

And he's so sure.

It almost breaks his heat when Lawrence's hand grabs his hair and slams his face into a wall, so hard that Adam doesn't even have the breath to scream. So hard that he feels something in his nose shift the second time he's forced into the wall.

He doesn't remember what breathing is. As Lawrence yanks his head back by his hair, his mouth gapes open, allowing the blood from his more than likely broken nose to seep in. Doesn't know if he should resist or keep quiet.

_I don't want to die._

Yeah, his life sucks, yeah, he's an unlucky bitch, whatever. Still… He doesn't want to die.

Not when there's so much left to do.

So many things to set straight.

So many cigarettes to smoke.

Is that the only thing he can look forward to?

It would be so easy to die now, since Adam doesn't really have anything else left, since he's starving half to death, since he's been fucked by a doctor who's supposed to care for suffering people, not cause the suffering. Adam's body convulses in loud, long sobs, but he shuts his eyes, closes them because he doesn't want to even see how he dies.

He waits.

He waits.

He waits.

His heart is so loud, he can hear it in his ears.

But nothing happens.

Adam opens his eyes and tries to look back at Lawrence, without having much luck at all. Lawrence is just staring at him, his teeth grinding into his upper lip as he watches the younger male waiting to die.

For the first time, Adam sees something else.

Lawrence lets go of Adam's hair, then steps back, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Like he's… Remorseful. Have you ever heard of a rapist being remorseful? Adam shakes uncontrollably, tears closing his throat as he watches the older man.

Well, he would've watched the older man.

Except Adam sinks to the floor, exhausted, too weak to stand at this point. His sobs are harsh, like someone squeezing the water out of a damp rag. Vulnerable that out of habit Adam must muffle them into the carpet.

What's happening?

Isn't Lawrence going to kill him?

Or is he going to have on last fuck with him before he does.

Neither would elate or depress Adam at this point.

But something…

Something does happen.

Something happens.

It's so weird, so unexpected that even Adam's heart starts to stop, because it's so…

Astonishing.

Lawrence has settled beside Adam, this time his hand stroking Adam's dark hair. Gently, sof ly stroking. And Adam does not dare protest, for fear of his face getting smashed again. Instead, he just wonders why he's not dead yet over and over.

"Calm down," whispers Lawrence in the younger man's ear, so soft and comforting unlike any other episode before.

Did his breath just… _falter?_

Adam is then picked up, and before he knows it, he's on a bed in a completely unfamiliar room.

Lawrence's smile is the last thing he sees before the blackout.

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Keh! Lawrence has finally given in! :D What will happen? Only your reviews will reveal the truth.


	8. Veins of Glass

I don't know exactly what would happen if I didn't update this fic. (: NOTICE! High school is starting for me on Monday. (Sad but true.) So I most likely will take even longer to update. This is a cruel world we're living in, folks… D: What right to teachers have to force us to go to a torture prison for eight hours a day to learn things we're likely to not even use? Anyway, please do enjoy this chapter! :D

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**7: Veins of Glass**

Adam is at the bottom of a pond. The bottom is pitch-black, so Adam can't get a view of anything, but he knows he's underwater because the surface ripples and trembles above him, just like somebody's eyes blurred with tears.

He should be worried.

Here, in a world that isn't Adam's and is clearly Lawrence's, the rapist has all the control. He's a scientist, and Adam is merely a hamster running on a wheel, confined in a cramped cage. But Adam wasn't aware that he has been running on that wheel for this long, that while he was trying to escape his cage before, he didn't know that he's been on that damned wheel.

Refuge is something he could never hope to achieve thus far.

The running wore thin and hopeless and eventually Adam's weak little legs had to give out, he had to stop and realize that there really hasn't been a valid point in running after all.

The surface grows closer and closer, as if an imaginary hand is gripping Adam's shirt collar and pulling him up. The reduced corner of Adam's brain that still manages to function wills him to keep sinking, wills him to float back to the bottom and never again… Never again face the tumultuous hell his life's become.

But Adam will not drift back to the bottom.

He's up now, against his will as his blurry eyes attempt to focus on some object in this dark room, but it's much like a keen eye's vision distorted through a kaleidoscope.

When Adam's able to focus, he's not sure which hits him first—the pain or the fatigue. Because while the fatigue makes his eyelids sag down like a wet dishrag, the pain strikes his face like a hammer hitting a nail into its perfect little hole. The only other time he's felt pain like this was when Toby Ancelotti, a popular jock, had pushed Adam down the stairs to mess with him in high school. The scrawny sixteen-year-old's wrist hand had been broken, oh, how he'd screamed and cried, but the other students just gathered around to survey the situation, not to assist someone in need of medical attention.

The pond rematerializes.

When the surface returns—for hopefully a shorter time—it could be hours later. The pain is still almost the twin of what it was earlier, still yelling and angry and hot. But at least Adam can see the room now with the small beams of light streaming through the boarded-up window.

Daylight.

Adam is laying on his back, one foot handcuffed to the wooden end of the queen-sized bed. He can feel the cold metal around his ankle underneath the sheet and plain, navy-colored duvet. And Adam could try to formulate another escape plan, even in his confused state, but the strength has been siphoned from every limb.

Closes his eyes again. His fingers brush against the bandages around both of his arms. Doesn't dare try to breathe out his nose, only inhales and exhales heavily.

A voice from the dead haunts his mind.

"Your nose isn't broken. Just bruised pretty badly. I know it hurts, though."

Okay. Not a voice from the dead. If you haven't noticed by now, Adam isn't dead, though he wishes he were strongly.

Gray eyes are drawn to blue. The supposed doctor sits in a chair next to the boarded-up window. Neither of the two speak for a moment. It's sort of similar to one of those situations where your dear old grandmother gets you a Christmas gift that somebody has already given you, so you just stay silent as you gawk at the duplicate gift, feigning appreciation. Maybe the gift in this situation is that Adam's not lying in a lake of his own blood with his eyes glazed over.

On the contrary, it's Lawrence's cold eyes that might as well be dead. The two blue orbs in the older man's eyes sockets do not even blink. They just stare, as if they're made of plastic. After no words are formed in the air for a while, Lawrence is the one who attempts to start a "conversation" after all. "Don't worry. I told them at the hospital that your mother is sick and that you have to fly to God-knows-where on very short notice to see here. Your job will be safe for a little while."

Well, isn't that fucking _euphoric._

Adam swallows, and his throat is no longer hoarse, isn't dry from dehydration. Lawrence must've given water to him when he was semi-conscious earlier, but he certainly has no memory of it. Hunger, however, still rakes its angry claws across the inside of Adam's stomach, like a mouse plagues formed inside of it, but since there's no food left for the mice to eat, the mice are turning cannibal on each other.

"I raped my wife."

His hands are rested on his knees, a small smile on his face. Despite the fact that Lawrence is middle-aged, the sudden dark circles resting underneath his eyes suddenly portray him as much older. Yes, he's smiling. Like someone's just told him a moderately cleaver joke while he's getting coffee, like a doctor raping his wife is something to boast about. Adam waits for Lawrence to elaborate, to tell him more about this sick game, but the elder man's silence switch has been flipped to the "on" position again. His dead gaze rests on the floor, whereas Adam just gawks at him; Adam really doesn't think that "I'm sorry to hear that" appeals as an appropriate response, especially when it's aimed at a man whose idea of a good time is molesting younger men, so Adam just shuts the fuck up.

And is startled when Lawrence speaks again after what seems like hours. "She refused to sleep with me… after I told her the truth," he murmurs. "I kidnapped, raped and killed two teenage prostitutes while I was with her. I thought…" Laughs. Lawrence laughs. Oh, this joke is so funny. "I thought she would understand. I thought we were in love. I figured that if us fighting… fighting all the time still kept us together… I figured that that would be no different after she found out about my… things."

Adam doesn't remind Lawrence that they're victims, not "things."

"After that… She took my daughter from me. Left me. I don't know if she didn't call the police because she still felt something for me or was scared or whatever, or if it was even for Diana, but… I think that's the first time I've ever been sorry." The doctor's eyes meet the ceiling. "There were… three other people before you. Two were teenage prostitutes, like I said before. I killed them, burned their bodies to mere ashes, and buried the ashes out back." Pause. "The third person was also an orderly."

_Why do you think I want to know this?_

"We… We got attached to each other. And… the more I looked at him, the more I wanted him. And the more I wanted him… The more I wanted him to leave me. Not be around me because I know better than anyone what I'm fucking capable of." Beginning to become afraid again, Adam jumps when Lawrence chuckles again, a shiver seizing his small frame. "So I left him."

Lawrence can still picture that man, wavy black hair, brown eyes, his smile and the willingness he possessed to be with someone who… defiled him. Picture his face, his peaceful face as he sleep, unknowing that Lawrence had just slid out the front door, that they'll never lock eyes again, because Lawrence knows what a filthy animal he is, knows that he doesn't deserve to ruin and keep a canary so beautiful caged.

The words are out before he has time to bite his tongue off and drown himself in his own blood.

"You make it seem like you've… raped a lot more than just three people besides me." Why is Adam carrying out an even decent conversation with this psycho? Maybe it's because he's hallucinogenic from malnutrition? Maybe he's still stuck in the realms of his pond. Or maybe he's just insane. That last theory seems to fit the bill pretty nicely.

"No… After Michael—that was his name, Michael—it was mostly just thoughts in my head. There's a voice in my head, telling me to cause pain." Another pause. The next words draw another shiver from Adam. "It says to me, 'Make them suffer, make them suffer because you've suffered.'" A laugh. How unexpected. "I thought I could make it stop somehow. Thought I could tell it to shut up after I left Michael. But… I decided I had to have _you."_

It's a good thing he nods after that sentence, because Adam had begun to think he was a doll by the way he's been sitting here, his lips moving but a robotic, artificial smile on his face for those creepy robots in horror movies that do smile. "Because the way your body felt when I caught you…" he goes on, twiddling his thumbs together. "The way you looked at me… The way I could tell you were flipping off the world… I had to destroy it. Had to break something I looked at and thought of as beautiful."

There's a word for people like Lawrence.

It's called "whack-job," but Adam decides that name-calling probably won't result in a positive outcome. But, then again, they're both whack-jobs. Lawrence, with his raping, then going to work and transforming into this friendly, popular doctor with a healthy mindset. Adam, with his having a girlfriend who doesn't give a shit about him, and he knows it, yet he still puts up with her.

A needle sews a stitch of hope into Adam.

Demi. Fuck yes, Demi! She'll have to know he's missing! Yeah, they don't like each other, but it's not like her to not have someone to text message complaints to!

"My girlfriend," croaks Adam, so soft that he's not even sure he says it out loud until Lawrence finally makes eye contact with him, as if he's been lulled out of an entrancement. "She'll know I'm gone. She'll… She'll call the police." Officers in uniforms, breaking down the door, hauling Lawrence off to prison in handcuffs. Adam being freed, possibly contacted by even his mother via the phone as he recovers in the hospital.

"Oh, my baby!" she'll cry, she'll fuss like the mother she was supposed to start being twenty six fucking years ago. Like she was supposed to be when Adam fell off the swing-set when he was five and got a boo-boo on his elbow. "My sweet little boy! You must be so traumatized! I'll be there as soon as I can! I'll visit you in the hospital every day until you recover!"

"I'm really okay, Ma," Adam will mumble, delirious but indeed fine. Because he'll realize he will have a few things to live for. "You don't have to visit me."

"Oh, but I want to visit you!" Ha, she'll be in tears. So many tears. Adam will have to struggle to understand her. "I'm so sorry! I… I haven't really been much of a mother, have I?"

"You're all right, Ma." The lie will pour out of Adam's mouth so easily, and yet so hard at the same time.

"Well, that'll change. From now on, things will be different between us."

This of course, will not happen.

It would be too lucky, and Adam is not a lucky man. Boy. Whichever you prefer.

Lawrence's next words slam into Adam like a door being snapped closed on fragile fingers.

"I texted Demi. She know thinks the same thing our coworkers think—that you're visiting your 'sick' mother."

Dear Katrina Faulkner. How, after being away from Adam for almost ten years now, do you still cause so much fucking trouble?

"Oh," is all Adam manages to get out, heaving a large sigh and shutting his eyes again, ignoring the low growl that rumbles inside of his stomach.

"Do you want something to eat?"

No, Lawrence, what Adam would really like is for you to take the handcuff off of his foot, wipe his memory clean of the last few days, and let him walk out of her and return to his better-than-nothing-at-all life. What Adam would really like is to forget you, Lawrence, have your very existence erased from his line of thought, but you're such a damn bastard that that'll never happen.

"Adam, do you want something to eat?"

Adam would like nothing more that the items previously listed. Because, frankly, any half-sane human being would trade a sandwich for freedom, had they the choice. At least I would, anyway.

"Adam, respond."

_Oh, I am responding, Lawrence. I'm responding on the inside. Respond or what? How much more can you hurt me than you already have? What more can you take away from me besides my life?_

Adam scoffs to himself. No, out loud. Out loud where Lawrence can hear it.

_That's right. Nothing._

Lawrence gets up, makes his way over to Adam.

_You think you're such a badass motherfucker, don't you? There's no way you can hurt me more._

Lawrence stares as he stands beside the bed. His eyes are more lucid than ever before, but still covered with a thin sheet of frost. He's only human, just like Adam. The veins in his wrists may be made of glass, but they're still veins, and Lawrence is still just a human.

Now Adam's expecting Lawrence to strike him across the face, to take out his knife and cut pretty little patterns across his arms again, but he doesn't. The fool just stands there, like his brain is being ransacked for the question, "How can I make him suffer?"

The orderly glances at the bite-mark on Lawrence's hand, scabbed over from where he'd struck blood. The rapist was vulnerable them, for a second Adam had had control over him with his teeth digging down into his soft flesh, control in that single instant. From what he's learned, it can easily be taken away again.

Suddenly…

And suddenly…

Adam finds himself excruciatingly furious.

Finds himself standing in a large circle of fire, skin heating up, fists clenching as he uses his hands to push down on the mattress and launch himself at Lawrence.

The cuff digs and cuts into his ankle as he lands, causing him to cringe, sending a stab of pain shooting through his lower leg, but what does he care? Lawrence grunts in surprise underneath him as the two men hit the floor. _Oh, Lawrence, why do you look so shocked? Why are your eyes so wide? Could it be that you're finally scared of me?_

He's doing this.

He's really doing it.

Adam fastens his hands around Lawrence's neck, one leg lifted in the air behind him, still pained and pointing at the bed in an awkward position, but the hot wave that washes underneath the little guy's psyche far surpasses the pain. Fury from sexual assault, dehydration, malnutrition, all sorts of crap that's piled up in his head like a backed-up toilet with shit swirling around inside of it manifests itself into utter fucking fury.

Sure, he doesn't know what he'll gain from this, choking Lawrence like the rapist did to him before. But he doesn't have long to think about it anyways, because a blow from Lawrence's closed fist sends Adam's head flying backwards against the side of the bed, then laying on his back with one awkward leg in the air from his restraint.

There's all sorts of coughing and sputtering coming from next to Adam, but it settles down. No more beating to Adam's face. Just silence again.

Then Adam glances back over at the supposed doctor.

Lawrence, why instead of clenching your jaw angrily and raising your fist to hit Adam again are you biting your lip? Why does your appearance show you off like you're so close to tears that if you at any moment open your mouth, you'll just start bawling?

You know you're not supposed to feel your heart sink in your chest at the sight of this, Adam. You're the one who should be receiving sympathy, you're the one who's been tortured here. You're the one who's suffering. Yet you continue to stare into those eyes, the eyes who have made a rather cruel habit of haunting you, of stalking you, of being a predator watching over its trapped prey, much like a spider and a fly that's been trapped in a web. You're the one who's helpless here.

Adam watches Lawrence. A flinch seizes him again when the doctor stands up. Or more or less scrambles to his feet. Whichever description you prefer. Lawrence shuts his eyes and heaves a sigh before exiting the room.

Taking this as an opportunity to recover, Adam climbs back onto the bed and rubs his raw ankle after he's sat back against the damaged headboard. Cranes his neck towards the doorway to see where the hell Lawrence has gone, because, frankly, Adam is very fucking confused when the elder man returns with a ham and cheese sandwich on a paper plate.

Lawrence is into biodegradable plates. Noted.

The elder man settles on the bed next to Adam and pushes the plate over to the orderly, who's curled up as far as way from Lawrence as he can be without falling off of the bed. "Eat. Now. And don't give me shit about how it might be poisoned or anything, because if I wanted you dead, I would've killed you extremely easily in that damned hallway, so eat the God damn sandwich."

No, there's no way in hell Adam trusts Lawrence. Plus he hates food. It feels gooey and disgusting when it slides down his throat, so he's got to go to the bathroom and puke it up because it's inside of him, because it's making him weak like the average American. Food makes him sick. His mother handed that over to him like a prostitute giving someone an STD.

Adam knows he shouldn't do this. But he takes the plate from the older man and starts to eat. God, it's disgusting. It feels so wrong and gooey and misplaced just being in his mouth.

He could throw up.

Don't throw up.

He has to tell himself he can't throw up, he needs this.

So after struggling, Adam finishes the sandwich, and sets the plate on the floor next to the bed. He's still semi-hungry, but this'll have to do for now. The younger male starts to look over and thank Lawrence, but somehow those words just can't leave his lips.

Tired. He's tired again.

He knows his head's sliding back down onto the pillow, feels his eyes closing. Before he realizes, he's in the dark again, feeling himself drift off to sleep, back underwater.

What jerks him back out of the water and into awareness isn't fear, but the realization that he's now warmer, more comfortable, a pair of strong arms are wrapped around him, holding him. A hand is up his shirt, fingers are stroking his ribs. A small tingling spreads across them with every touch, and it feels…

It feels good.

Lawrence is cradling Adam.

There are two things he's sure of right before he succumbs to sleep.

One is Lawrence whispering, "I love you, my beautiful Adam."

Two…

Adam will never, ever be able to admit to himself that that's what he just heard.

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_When Adam walked into the house he shared with his mom, he knew he should be worried. But he wasn't. Fear is something that escapes you when you're used to wearing it on your skin almost every day._

_Katrina Faulkner, Adam's mother, was sitting on her usual beige chair in the small living room, a can of beer in one hand. She looked over listlessly as her lanky, seventeen-year-old son approached her. "Well, well, look who's finally home from school," she slurred, taking a swig of the half-empty can of beer, then placing it next to several empty ones on the coffee table. "Took you long enough. Where you been?"_

_Adam stood calmly in front of her, dropping his bookbag on his feet. They were intended to land beside his feet, as the painful collision of his sneakers and books reminded him. But he didn't blink. "I got my report card," he muttered to you. "I need you to sign it, Ma."_

"_Let me guess, your report card looks like it has a fucking stutter?" Katrina chuckled, lighting a cigarette and referring to Adam's various Fs. Adam subconsciously rubbed a red claw-mark underneath his shirt sleeve while his mother continued to speak. "Why don't you just drop out? Face it, Adam. You're going to be working at a fast-food restaurant for the rest of your life with those grades." She stopped to stare at his mid-section. "Also, you could lose a few fucking pounds if you ask me."_

"_Nobody needs your input," Adam replied after taking the wadded-up report card out of his backpack and tossing it at his mother. He made his way across the living room, still saying, "Try taking the needle out of your arm before telling me what to do."_

"_What did you just say to me?"_

_The hiss of words. They were enough to freeze Adam at this point, get him to look at the dark-haired woman who probably had Satan on speed-dial. Katrina was at her feet then, lumbering over to Adam. She was obviously inebriated, making her judgment worse as she took ahold of a big clump of Adam's hair in her delicate hands. "Listen to me, you worthless fucking wannabe-abortion. You're going to stop talking to me like that."_

_Adam growled and swung his fists at her, hitting his target straight in the face, but Katrina was stronger, despite being as thin as she was. She closed her hand around Adam's neck, spitting as she kneed him in between the legs. A mix of hot pain and terror washed over Adam as he screamed and sank to the floor, something throbbing that shouldn't be in this sort of situation. _

_Katrina stepped on his back with one foot and grabbed Adam's dark hair back in her fist again. Adam gasped and struggled to see behind him, but it was too late. His mother struck him in the face, struck him again, again, again, there was blood pouring from his nose now, again, again, again, again, again…_

_Adam thought it would never end._

_But when only the color red remained in his vision, his mother stepped off of him and kneeled down next to where he lay, unmoving, trying to pretend like he didn't exist. _

_Go away. Get away._

"_You better start listening to me, you fucking prick," Katrina snarled, her hands on her hips. "Next time you get an F, I'll knock your ass across the room. And you better stop fucking eating so much before you get fat." She smiled. "Do as I do, and you'll be just fine."_

_The minutes blurred by after that._

_Where Katrina went after that speech, Adam still does not know to this day._

_She could've been out selling drugs. Whoring around._

_He doesn't know._

_But while the minutes blurred by, Adam just laid there. Unmoving._

_When he finally decided to get to his feet, where he had pressed his face against the carpet was already reddened with blood. His nose stung like fire, but it paled in comparison to the cut beneath his left eye, still bleeding and dripping down off of his chin._

_Adam went to the bathroom._

_He cleaned up his nose. The cut._

_Then he kneeled in front of the toilet._

_Shoved his fingers down his throat._

_Threw up._

Much like he does now over the side of the bed, because the sandwich was still inside of him, he had to get it out.

Next to Adam, Lawrence wakes up.

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I am extremely proud to say this is the longest chapter so far in Affection's Victim. :D Very happy face. While this chapter mostly had revelations about Lawrence, the next one will have lots more about Adam… Your reviews will inspire me to update as quickly as I can. :D


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